


Like A Red Red Rose

by elena_fisher



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Syndicate - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-06-10 10:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15289680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elena_fisher/pseuds/elena_fisher
Summary: Jacob survives his ordeal with Jack but he is scarred both physically and emotionally. Doctor Louise Walker is given the difficult task of getting him back on his feet and helping him to see the light once more. Meanwhile, Evie struggles with the guilt of having left her brother behind all those years ago and vows to never make the same mistake again.





	1. Chapter 1

The doors swing open and the stretcher is rapidly carried into the clinic. Quickly they place him on a hospital bed and close the doors, so that she can no longer see him. It pains her the second he is out of eyeshot but she knows that they must do their job and that he is in the best place. Yet having not seen him in so long she almost cannot bear to be apart from him, not even for a second. _I should never have left you_ , she thinks sorrowfully.

A woman emerges from the room that Jacob has been taken into and grabs her surgical tools from the desk and walks back towards the double doors. Evie gulps at the sheer size of them. If there is a God she prays that he is with her brother now.

“Will he live?” she asks the woman.

She turns to look at her just before the doors and frowns. Evie knows that look. The _‘I want to give you good news but I don’t want to lie to you’_ look. “I cannot say at this moment. It is imperative that I close Jacob’s wounds immediately. If I cannot I fear we may have to amputate.  Excuse me,” she says and rushes into the other room.

Evie starts to pace the floor, unable to keep still for a second from the agitation she now feels waiting for her brother to come around. If he _does_ come around. She stares at the array of needles and scalpels on display in the room, none which look pleasant, trying to distract herself from the deafening silence that torments her mind. She can hear no sound of what is going on behind the doors, no sign that he is alive. It’s slowly killing her. She wishes she was in his place. She would give anything to take on his pain and hurt and bear it for him. She is his sister and she was supposed to care for him but what did she do? Abandon him all those years ago _. Why did I go? Why?_

The noise of the front door opening startles her but she calms when she sees Abberline walking in. “Any news?” he asks, removing his hat and coat.

“None. They’re sealing his wounds but…they may have to amputate his leg if the wound is too deep. His career as an assassin will be over, that much is clear.”

“What matters is he survives, Miss Frye,” he says with a faint smile. “Jacob’s a fighter. If anyone can get through this, he can.”

“I am glad you’re so optimistic, Mr Abberline.” She sighs and stares at the ground. “Mr Abberline, _no one_ can know what happened. Jack, the order, everything. If people were to find out about the assassins and the templars we could have a full-scale war on our hands. I know it’s a lot to ask but-”

“I understand,” he cuts her off and steps closer to her. “Yes, I am going to get my arse handed to me by the press but I know the issue is much bigger than that. Even if I do not always agree with your… _questionable_ methods I do know that the brotherhood does what is necessary for the sake of peace and I would not want to compromise that. And despite the fact I may have lost touch with Jacob but he is still my friend and I care about him greatly.”

“Thank you. Truly. I am glad he has a friend like you. I have sent for Mr Green and his son, Emmett, from India so he will have plenty of us to care for him. And I must speak to the council soon and ask them to send someone to watch over London temporarily while I tend to my brother.”

“You will not run the brotherhood yourself?”

“Looking after Jacob is my priority. I abandoned him one before, I will not do it again.”

“Miss Frye you cannot blame yourself for that,” he says, sympathetic expression on his face.

Evie shrugs. “But if I was here I could have-”

“No one could have known what that monster would do. If they did I am certain Jacob would have left him in the Asylum in the first place. You are too hard on yourself Evie.”

She smiles at the compliment, even if she does not fully believe it. The despair she feels now is suffocating her and if there was even the slightest chance that it could have been avoided by her staying in London, then she cannot help but view herself as at least partly responsible.

“So I assume you will not be heading back to India for some time then?” he asks.

“Not until Jacob is better. And I would be lying if I said I had not missed London. What’s next for Frederick Abberline?”

“An early retirement to Bournemouth if Mrs Abberline gets her way. Though after the past few months it doesn’t seem like such a terrible idea.”

Evie chuckles and they finally take a seat, waiting in silence for the doctor to tell them everything would be alright.

“He’s in safe hands you know. Doctor Walker is the best I know. Even if most would not give a woman a chance,” Abberline says.

That reassures her a little. When she found him in the cell in Lambeth Asylum he was so weak and lifeless. At first, she was not sure if he was even alive but when she held him in her arms she felt faint breathing. Then he awoke and was only able to open one eye as it had been beaten so badly it was like it had been glued shut. Oh and the way he looked at her. So much sorrow in those hazel eyes of his, like he wasn’t sure if she was truly there or if it was merely a torturous dream, giving him false hope. When she saw what that evil bastard had done to him she was more than joyful to have been the one to put him in an early grave.

Suddenly, the doctor emerges from the surgery room and removes her gloves. Evie jumps up quickly and strides towards her. “How is he? Can I see him?”

“He is still sedated from the anaesthetic so we must wait for him to come around but I am happy with the progress he has made and am certain he will make a full recovery. Though I do suggest he refrain from any vigorous activity,” she says, matter of fact. “When he wakes up I will give him some laudanum for the pain and later we will see if he can keep any food down.” The doctor pauses and folds her arms across her chest, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and looking down at the ground briefly.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” says Evie, observing her body language.

She looks back up and nods. “In time his physical health will heal.” She takes in a deep breath _. Here comes the bad news._ “But what I have examined from his body concerns me greatly. Mr Frye is severely malnourished and there are marks on his wrists and ankles where the skin has been ripped off. Like he has been tied down and struggled against the chains. He also looks like he has been beaten fatally and regularly. All this leads to me to believe he has been kidnapped and tortured. Is this correct?”

“Yes,” Frederick replies quickly, without hesitation.

“Mr Abberline!” Evie protests.

“She must know the full story if she is going to help him. We can trust her,” he argues.

She is unsure if that is true but it is too late now and he may be right. If Jacob will need help to overcome his mental trauma then she needs to know what he is going through. And it’s not like anyone would take the story seriously with no evidence anyway, but the reporters would certainly be all over it like a moth to a flame.

“He was kidnapped by Jack the Ripper.”

“You…” There is a look of momentary shock on her face, expectedly, but it soon turns to concern. “You caught him then?”

“Yes. Miss Frye ended his life. His reign of terror is finally over.”

“Good. Let us hope there are no copycats seeking fame.”

Evie is intrigued about why this woman is so unperturbed by the revelation and she wonders if Abberline has told her anything of them and the order before. She would have thought she’d have more questions about the infamous murderer that had plagued this borough these past few months.

“As I was saying” she continues. “While Mr Frye may make a physical recovery, I am concern about his mental recovery. What you have just told me confirms that he has been through some serious trauma and I am afraid he will never truly be the same again.”

 _Never the same again?_ What will he be like when he wakes up? Is the man he once was gone for good? “But you’re a doctor, is it not your job to make him better?”

“It’s not quite as simple as that Miss Frye but I will do my absolute best to help him. We just must learn to be patient with him. Show him that he is loved.”

“Would we be able to take him home? He will be more comfortable there.”

“Yes, but I suggest we move him now, while he is still knocked out. I will visit him everyday to check on his health and you know where I am if you need me while I am not there.”

“Thank you doctor.”

 

As he gradually starts to awake his nostrils are flooded with smell of incense and there is a soft breeze that dances across his bare skin. He tries to open his eyes but only one of them will, yet it is enough to see that he is in his bed and rays of sunlight cascade into the centre of the room. He wonders if this is yet another dream but his senses are too strong for it to be so. For a second he forgets the pain but as he tries to sit up it comes crashing back down upon him. He looks down at his broken body, recoiling at how hideous he looks. He has clearly been stripped of his clothes so that he could be patched up but the large stiches across his chest serve as a reminder of something he would rather forget, and instead hide away in shame. He still cannot believe what happened. What Jack did. Suddenly he panics as he thinks of Jack, still out there and roaming the streets of Whitechapel.

The door creaks open and a woman he has never seen before enters. She is dressed in a light blue dress and wears a white apron, tied around her waist at the back with a bow, where it rests on the top of her bustle. Her dark hair is tied up in a practical bun, but a few loose stands of hair fall at the side of her face. She hums to herself as she puts some medicinal jars on the table at the foot of the bed.

She looks up, noticing Jacob is staring at her. “Oh good you’re awake,” she says, fetching one of the jars. “I have some medicine I need you to take and if you are feeling up to it then I shall make you something to eat. How does porridge sound?”

“Who the hell are you?” he asks bluntly, ignoring her question. He finds talking painful. His throat is so dry and raspy, having not had any access to water in days.

“I am Doctor Louise Walker and I am taking care of you,” she says sweetly and walks to the bed.  

“I don’t need looking after.”

“I think you do.” She opens the jar and pours some of the black liquid onto a spoon and holds it towards Jacob’s mouth, waiting for him to open it. “This will help dull the pain.”

Jacob grabs the spoon from her hand and throws it across the room in anger. It makes a thud as it hits the wall and the liquid leaves a stain in the carpet.

The woman walks over to the spoon, pick it up and sets it on the desk calmly. “Mr Frye, I understand what you have been through but-”

“You know nothing of what I have been through!” he snaps.

She nods, not at all taken aback by his abrupt outburst. “You are right. I do not. But if you do not take the medicine I give you your wounds will not heal and you could die.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he mumbles under his breath.

“Do not say that,” she replies, having heard what he said. “You have a sister who has not left your side this time and a friend who has risked his career for you. Miss Frye tells me your son is on his way. You have plenty of people who care about you. Do not forget that.”

He is silent. Everything he has ever done he has failed at. Being an assassin. A mentor. A father. He sees no point in being alive when he days have been filled with nothing but intangible darkness, even before Jack.

“Will you take the medicine?” she asks again.

He finally nods and allows her to feed it to him. He cannot bare the searing pain that is creeping its way through his entire body any longer.

“Good,” she says, satisfied with him. “I shall leave you to rest.”

 

Doctor Walker exists the room, bumping into Evie on the staircase. “Oh Doctor, is he awake yet?” she asks hopefully. He’s been out for almost a day and she is desperate to see him again.

“Yes he is awake but he is not in a pleasant mood so expect no song and dance.”

“It is to be expected. Everything he has gone through.”

“Quite. Patience is key here. And take everything he says to you with a pinch of salt. He is merely lashing out. He must have so much hatred and anger at the man who did this but he cannot that direct than anger onto him so instead he will direct it onto us. He means nothing by it, people often hurt the ones they love the most.”

Evie nods, taking in what Louise is telling her.

“Miss Frye, do you have a spare room here? I suspect that Mr Frye will have night terrors and it would be best if I am here to deal with them. They can be quite unnerving if one is not accustomed to them. If you permit it, of course.”

“Yes, I would be extremely grateful. But do you not have other patients to attend to?”

“I do but Mr Frye is by far my most serious case. The others are mostly futile colds and rashes in embarrassing places and my apprentice can take care of those. Mr Frye needs constant care and attention. I am one of the few experienced doctors of the mind in this borough and you will not find many who will not simply tell him to get some fresh air and take a hot bath. I will do my upmost to ensure he gets through this, Miss Frye.”

“Thank you. I do not know how to repay you.”

“Mr Abberline has that covered. And besides, I owe him a favour or two. Call me if you need anything.”

Evie pokes her head through the door of Jacob’s bedroom apprehensively to see if he is still sleeping. He looks peaceful, his chest moving up and down slowly, and she does not want to disturb his rest. Just ask she is about to back out he says “you can come in.” She smiles and sits down on the wooden chair beside his bed. “I wasn’t sure if you were awake or not.”

He turns his head so that he can see her with him good eye. He is so bloody and beaten. His right eye is still swollen shut and his chest is covered in cuts and bruises. Her heart feels heavy as she looks at his decrepit body. She is filled with rage that someone could do this to him. Someone so close. She had often disapproved of his methods in the past, but Jacob has never hurt anyone deliberately and he did not deserve this fate. He notices how she is looking at him and sighs, causing him to wince in pain. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some fucking leper! It will heal.”

“I know. You are in safe hands. Abberline says Doctor Walker is the best at what she does. You’ll be better in no time,” she says, trying to reassure him but she in not sure how much that will actually mean in the scheme of things.

“Evie. Jack…is he…?” his voice cracks and trails off.

“Dead. I made sure he got what was to him Jacob. Though it is not even half of what he deserves.”

Jacob doesn’t respond for a moment and is expression is completely blank. Not the joy she was expecting to see. “How much does she know?” he asks and Evie assumes she means the doctor.

“Abberline told her everything. He says we can trust her and he has promised not to tell anyone of what happened. I am surprised he agreed but he cares about you enough to sacrifice his good name.”

“Abberline? What does he care? I’ve not seen him in years.”

“He still cares. I have sent for Emmett-”

“No,” Jacob says coldly. “Tell him not to come.” He turns his head away from Evie, instead staring at the ceiling.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t want him to see me like this. It’s better he stays where he is.”

“But he’s your son. He cares about you. We all care about you.”

“Really? You care?”

“Of course I do! This whole thing is my fault and I need to make up for it,” she admits, tears pricking at her eyes, fighting to escape, but she has to stay strong. For him.

“How exactly is it your fault?”

“I left you. If I was here I could have helped-”

“Because I am so useless that I need you to do everything for me?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“If anyone is to blame it’s me for not seeing what he was sooner. I did exactly what father told us not to do. I let my ‘personal feelings compromise the mission’ and look how I’ve paid for it. So if you’re only here out of guilt then I relinquish you from whatever duty you think you have to me. Go back to India.”

“You don’t mean that,”

He is silent. The only sounds between them is the gentle wind outside and the birds singing a charming song. What she would give to be that bird; free and without a care in the world.

“I will leave you to rest.” She exits the room and makes her way to her own. _Patience Evie,_ she thinks to herself. She knows what Louise said, he doesn’t truly mean anything he says but that does not mean it hurts any less. His words stung. Did he truly believe she didn’t care? Though who could blame him? They had spent fifteen years apart after all. But he still kept the statue of Kali the Destroyer so there must have been some part of him that didn’t totally resent her, however small that may be. Nevertheless, she will not make the same mistake twice. She will be here this time, for as long as he needs her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic depictions of violence in this chapter

_“Jacob,” a voice calls, though he cannot tell where it is coming from. There is naught but darkness, swallowing him whole. “Where are you? Come out come out wherever you are.” The voice is taunting him, scaring him easily into submission._

_The street lights up and now he can see the man before him, but he hasn’t noticed him yet. He is hiding around the corner, trying not expose himself to the killer._

_“I will find you Jacob. And rip you like a butcher does a pig.” The man laughs in a ghastly manner, sending shivers down Jacob’s spine. He walks down the street, searching in alleyways along the way. He gradually gets closer to the cul-de-sac Jacob is hiding in, his soles smacking against the cobble stones and Jacob’s breathing quickens. All of a sudden, he stops. “Maybe this is some incentive for you to show yourself,” he says, grabbing a young woman by the hair and shoving her to the ground. She whimpers as she tries to pull herself back up but he grabs her again and yanks her head back, exposing her bare neck to the cold November breeze. He pulls out his knife and holds it to her throat._

_“No!” Jacob cries helplessly, but he’s too far away to be heard._

_And then  Jack is slashing her throat, blood spurting out and running down her chest. When she falls to the ground, limp and lifeless, he stabs her body continuously. He stabs her again, and again, and again, and again._

_And he runs. Like a coward Jacob runs from the scene and he flees to his house. He shuts the door and locks it behind him, pacing up and down his Whitechapel flat. Then he hears him again, knocking at the door furiously. Jacob has nowhere to hide._

_“Jacob. Why do you run from me?”_

_“Leave me alone!” he screams but Jack does not listen.” Leave me! Leave me be!”_

_“Jacob. Jacob. Jacob.”_

“Jacob. Jacob can you hear me?” Louise says as Jacob is thrashing in his bed, the sheets coiling around his heated body. She tries to hold him still in case he tears out his stitches but his strength vastly outweighs her's.

“Go away! I want no part of this,” he sobs and a sheen of sweat is covering his skin, despite the fact the room is freezing as he had insisted on sleeping with the window open.

She wishes she was not so helpless. There is nothing she can really do until he returns to his senses, whenever that may be. “Jacob it’s just a dream. Can you hear me? Jacob?”

His eyes flicker open and he sits up quickly, pushing her away violently. She falls back, hitting the back of her head on the corner of the side table.

“Shit…” she says as she touches it and sees there is blood on her hand.

“I…I didn’t mean…” he says, panic arising in his voice. He tries to sit up and help her but the pain is too strong for him. He slumps back down, rubbing his temples.  

“It’s alright Mr Frye, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she pulls herself up and fetches him a wet cloth to wipe away the sweat from his brow. She is not angry. Only sorry for him, not even having the solace of sleep to take away the hurt that he feels when he is awake. Jack has taken everything from him and buried himself deep within the poor man’s subconscious. She can only pray that one day disease of the mind will be as easy to cure as disease of the body. To heal a wound of the leg you can stitch it up, apply heat, douse with carbolic acid and wrap in fresh bandages every day, and in time only a scar will remain. The leg will function as it did before. But how does one heal a wound of the mind? There is no disinfectant to solve the problem, only patience and perseverance. But she wonders if ‘wounds’ such as these can ever truly heal or if he will forever be picking at the scabs.  

“Are you not going to sort your head out?” he asks.

“In a moment. It’s not a deep cut, it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were-”

“I know. I know who you thought I was.” She leaves the room and returns with a small vial of liquid. Something to help him sleep without interruption. She holds it to his mouth and he opens reluctantly. “Go back to sleep Mr Frye. I will check on you again in the morning.”

 

Louise pulls her shawl tighter around her body as she steps out of the Frye residence in the City of London and heads towards the market place. The air is growing colder now as winter approaches and the autumn of terror comes to a close. Soon it would be Christmas, another miserable year spent alone and nursing dozens of hangovers come Boxing Day.

“Read all about it! Ripper still on the loose as police find nothing!” a boy cries, waving a newspaper in the air.  

She glances a the headline board. _Ghastly Murder at Miller’s Court: Killer Still Walks Free._ There is a cartoon pictured underneath which enough to make anyone’s stomach turn. _Mary Jane Kelly_. The fifth, and final, Ripper victim. But the world does not know that. To the general public she is just another of many and no one is safe. She knows that Abberline must have his reasons for trusting these _assassins_ but it seems so wrong to let the hysteria continue when the killer is no longer a threat. Allowing these people to go on fearing for their lives. She may not trust whatever order it is the Frye twins work for, but she trusts Frederick, so she will not say anything. Besides, her accusations would be labelling as the rambling of a mad woman, nothing more.

She takes a paper, gives the boy a threepence, and carries on her way to the market. There she buys vegetables for a soup and some freshly made bread. With her remaining shilling she purchases some incense from the Chinese shop, to clear the miasma of despair in Mr Frye’s room. Satisfied, she returns to his home. When she arrives back, she sees he is awake, though mute, and starts to prepare his soup.

“Good morning Doctor,” Evie greets her, entering the room. “How was your night?”

“Fine,” Louise replies, not mentioning what had happened with Jacob. Her head felt a little better and she was able to cover up the wound by tying up her hair, so there was no need to bring it up. Evie would be worrying about him enough as it is. “Miss Frye, if I am to be lodging in your home for the foreseeable I insist you call me Louise.”

“Only if you call me Evie,” she replies.

Louise nods. “Want some soup? There’s plenty to go round.”

“That would be wonderful thank you.” She takes a seat at the dining table while Louise stirs the pot. “I have to say I deeply respect you doc-Louise. Practising medicine despite the fact so many are against the idea. It is rather admirable. I don’t know many female doctors.”

“I don’t know many female assassins either,” Louise looks at her, smiling, and Evie does the same. "Abberline tells me you and your brother got up to all sorts."

“How much has he told you of us exactly?”

“Enough. I won’t tell if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I just wouldn’t want you to think that we are ruthless killers. We only kill to protect innocents.”

“I understand,” she says, dishing up the soup into bowls. She puts one bowl and a cup of tea on a tray. “I shall just take this up to your brother.”

“Is he in a better mood this morning?” Looking at Evie, Louise can tell she has not slept much in the night. She looks pale, with bags forming under her eyes, and perhaps a little too thin. She must be so worried for her brother she is neglecting to care for herself.

“Not particularly. But he will get there Evie.”

Louise picks up the tray and ventures upstairs, opening the creaking door to find that Jacob is staring up at the ceiling, his breathing slow. He is so still that it would be easy to think he was dead. She sets the tray on the table. “Feeling any better this morning?” she asks, hopefully.

“No,” he replies bluntly, the answer she really suspected.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Please?”

He sighs and tries to sit up, Louise helping him and placing the pillow behind his back. She sees him wince in pain and feels bad for making him move but he needs to eat. She slowly feeds him and he takes a few spoonfulls before declining anymore. He’s not eaten as much as she would have hoped but it is at least a start.  

“Tea?”

He shakes his head in response. “How is your head?” he asks.

She is taken aback by the question. There is a softness in his voice that he has not used with her before, only anger and bluntness. The simple question gives her hope that the man he used to be is still there, fighting his way through oblivion. “Healing. Don’t worry yourself about it. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I…” his voice trails off and his cheeks flush. “I need to piss.”

“Alright,” she says, reaching under the bed and retrieving the chamber pot. “I need you to swing your legs over the side of the bed. Do you think you can do that?” she asks.

He nods and tries to move his legs but recoils when the pain is too much.

“Here, let me,” she says and proceeds to move his legs for him. It still hurts him but he is at least in a position where he will not wet the bed. She begins to unbutton his long johns and pulls them down just far enough. She reaches for the pot and holds it in place. Looking up at his face she sees he is blushing and realises that, while seeing male genitalia is completely normal for her having served as a nurse in the army for a number of years, he must be feeling incredibly self-conscious. _Not that he need be_ , she thinks and immediately chastises herself.

“Believe me, I’ve seen it all a thousand times. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she reassures and he starts to empty his bladder into the pot. When he is done she rebuttons him up and helps him back into the bed. She picks up the pot and walks towards the door, trying not to spill anything onto the carpet. “I have the most glamorous of jobs,” she jokes and she swears she sees a faint smile on his lips, though she may have been imagining it. “I will be returning to my clinic shortly but if you require anything else, let your sister know and she can send for me. Get plenty of rest and try to drink as many fluids as you can. Some more food would be good too but see how you feel. So far you have kept the soup down which is a good sign. Sleep well Mr frye.”

 

“Mr Abberline, what a wonderful surprise,” Evie says as she opens the door and welcomes in her friend.

He removes his hat and passes her a small box. “I just got off work. It’s been hell lying to everyone, I’m hoping they’ll drop the case soon. Anyway, my wife baked a cake for Jacob. I know it’s not much but it’s her way of helping.”

“Oh, well tell her thank you. It is a lovely gesture.”

“How is he?”

“Still much the same but Louise is certain he will get better soon.” Evie has to admit that the young woman has been doing a good job of caring for him thus far, even if Jacob has been unresponsive. She knows what she is talking about at least and Evie cannot fathom how she manages to stay so calm all the time. In another life she could have been a good assassin.

“Good. The Frye’s _are_ known for their stubbornness,” he jokes and Evie chuckles, remembering the times where she and Jacob had butted heads because neither of them would back down. “Is he awake?”

“He is sleeping at the moment.”

“Ah, I will return when he is awake. Give him my love will you?”

“Of course.” As Abbeline leaves, Evie takes the cake upstairs to leave by Jacob’s bed for when he awakes and tries to leave the room as quietly as possible so she does not wake him.

“Evie,” he calls just as she is about to leave.

“Yes?” she walks back hurriedly, fearing something is wrong. "Don't move Jacob, you'll hurt yourself," she says as he is trying to push himself up so that he can see her. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“What I said yesterday. I’m just so…it’s infuriating being like this. Not being able to move or eat or drink. I can’t even piss by myself!”

“You don’t have to be sorry, I understand. And it will get better Jacob, I promise.” She takes his hand and squeezes it tightly.

He looks at her blankly for a moment before returning to fix his gaze on the ceiling. He sighs deeply, pushing the air out of his mouth. “What’s even the point in being alive?”

“Don’t you dare say that!” she says in anger. How could he say that? All she cares about right now is him and getting him better. It’s like she cannot function without him and she doesn’t even want to imagine him not being here. She needs him as much as he needs her.

“I have _nothing_.”

“You have me! I know that may not count for much but...”

“For how long?”

“Forever. I meant what I said Jacob, I’m not going back to India. Ever. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Morse the pity.” For a second the corners up his mouth turn upwards and it is the first sign of Jacob she has seen so far. A small gesture but it shows he is making progress. But then she suddenly realises that she doesn’t know what Jacob is like anymore. A lot can change in fifteen years. Here she is expecting it to be how it used to be, back in their twenties, but he could be a totally different person now. Before she can torture herself with these thoughts any further he asks her a question. “Could you get me some laudanum?”

“I don’t-”

“The doctor said I could have one more dose today. Please Evie it hurts.”

Evie agrees and spots Louise’s bag where she has left the medicine that Jacob needs, as well as some fresh bandages. As Evie rummages through, looking for the laudanum to give to Jacob, she pulls out a newspaper, dated to today. The front page depicts a horrific, hand drawn cartoon of Mary. It makes her blood boil to think back to the ‘crime scene’ she examined with Mr Abberline. Jack hadn’t just killed her. He’d _butchered_ her. _Why? Why did he need to do that?_ _What kind of warped view of the creed does he have? Did he have._

“Is that today’s newspaper?” he asks, having seen what she is looking at.

“I… um…” she shoves it in the bag quickly so that he does not have to witness the horror. 

“Show me.”

“Jacob, it won’t help-”

“I said show me!” She relents and passes it to him. He takes the paper and starts to read the article. Perhaps it will give him some peace of mind. “Mary,” he mutters. “Oh Mary. What has he done to you?” He begins to sob and shakes violently.  Evie goes to comfort him but he pushes her away.  “Get out!” he cries but she does not budge. How can she leave him like this? This is her fault. “Get out!” he repeats, this time with a higher volume and a venomous tone.

Evie hurries out of the room before he can get any angrier at her. She runs down the stairs, collapses on the chaise longue and cries, head in hands. She weeps and weeps until sleep finally takes her.

 

He stares at the paper. The headline: _Ghastly Murder_. The cartoon depicting Mary Kelly’s corpse. She is the worst yet by far. Jack has mutilated her so severely that if not for reading her name, Jacob would not have known who it was. He looks at her face, trying desperately to look for anything that resembles her but she in completely unrecognisable. Her throat has been slashed, like the others, but her internal organs have been ripped out and her breasts cut off and placed around her body. It’s like he sees his work as some kind of sick art.

Jacob reads the tagline, blaming the police for not doing their job properly when the only person to blame is himself. He _should_ have seen it. How could he not have known? Even his own wife had expressed her concern that the lad may ‘not be entirely right in the head’. But what did he do? He told her she was imagining things and that Jack was just merely enthusiastic.

But he took the creed too far. Twisted Jacob’s teachings to fit his own psychotic ideology. He should have expected this, been more vigilant. That is his job, is it not? All those lives he put in danger, and all because he thought he was rescuing a little boy and giving him a better life. His father had always said he was naïve.

He had found the women on the streets of London, plying their unfortunate trade. It pained him to see them, so desperate to offer their bodies to strangers just to pay for their doss money. So he gave them a job. Thought he was giving them something to live for. A purpose. But in truth all he had given them was an early grave. Polly, Anne, Elizabeth, Catherine and Mary. All dead because he was so blind to the truth.

Jack had blamed him for his mother’s death and the abuse he suffered in the asylum. Jacob was meant to protect London from the Blighters, after all, and yet he could not protect his mother. Perhaps he was right.

In the asylum he saw an innocent boy, traumatised by the loss of his mother, a loss Jacob could relate to, and he thought he was giving him a second chance. What he was really doing was giving a troubled child the means to kill anonymously. He had doomed Whitechapel to this fate. _He_ had killed them. No one could deny that Jacob Frye had blood on his hands and as far as he was concerned he belonged in the ground too, right next to Jack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic scenes in this chapter

“Make way, make way!” cries a man in desperation as he pushes through the crowds of people and into the clinic. He is clutching a young girl to her chest and blood pours from her bloody mangled leg. “Help me please! She’s dyin’!”

Louise immediately directs the scruffy looking man to the back room and tells him to place the child on the table. “What happened?” she asks, though whatever the answer is the result will be the same. The wound looks far too deep for her to close. The leg may have to go.

“She was trapped in a machine at the cotton mill miss,” his cockney accent bellowing. “Please, call the doctor and tell 'im 'e must 'elp 'er or she’ll bleed out!” the man says, practically pleading for the life of what Louise assumes to be his daughter.

“I _am_ the doctor. Now please step aside and let me examine her.” Though the man is surprised that she is the one in charge, he nods and moves out of her way nevertheless. Louise pulls on her gloves and begins to prod at the enormous gash, causing the girl great pain, writhing under her touch. “Forgive me,” she says “but I must check the depth of the wound and search for any sign of infection.”

The girl nods as tears stream from her eyes. The leg is still bleeding heavily and as her fingers glide over it puss starts to leak out. She goes to the draw, finds a cloth, pours carbolic acid over it, and begins to clean the leg. The girl cries out and her father rushes to her, gripping her hand tightly. “Atherton,” she says to her apprentice. “Hold her down please. Her trashing is preventing me from examining her properly.”

He obliges and the father helps to hold her wrists and ankles down. Louise proceeds to wipe away the excess blood and puss, revealing the girl’s bone. She furrows her brows and sighs.

“What? What is it? You can save her can’t you,” the man yells.

“I’m going to have to amputate,” Louise informs and returns to the draw, pulling out her surgical saw.

The father looks as though he is going to faint at the sight of it. “No, there must be another way. I’ll find someone more experienced since ya clearly don’t know nothing. That’s why they don’t allow women doctors,” the man spits venom but she has grown used to prejudice so his words simply pass through one ear and out the other.

She begins to sterilise the surgical instruments. “And a male doctor will tell you the exact same thing as I have. By the time you find another doctor, your daughter will have bled out and she will die. Removing the leg is the only way to keep her alive. I am sorry.”

“But she’ll be a cripple for the rest of ‘er life! She’ll go straight to the poor ‘ouse if she can't work!”

“Father,” the girl interrupts weakly, looking up at his with sorrow filled eyes. “Let her do it. Please.”

He sighs and kisses the back of her hand. “Very well. Do what you have to do. Just make it quick.”

“Certainly. Artherton, please prepare the chloroform.” The apprentice returns with the bottle and a clean cloth. Louise pours the liquid onto the cloth and places it over the patient’s nose and mouth. “I assure you,” she says to the father who is looking petrified for his daughter. “I will make this as fast and painless as possible. She is safe in my care.”

When the girl is unconscious she gets to work right away on her leg, finally severing the flesh and bone after several attempts. Amputation is always a messy business and not one she recommends, only as a last resort as is the case with this girl. She performed them many a time in Egypt, where men would have they’re limbs shattered by cannon fire or bullets embedded deep within their flesh. She feels a rise in anger as she looks at the discarded leg and awaits the patient to reopen her eyes. Factories are so dangerous and bosses take no precautions in protecting the safety of their workers. She is forever getting patients who have breathing problems because of the conditions they endure, inhaling sawdust and the like, and those who are going deaf due to the sheer volume of their work. And there is nothing she can do to prevent this. The poor need work and will being willing to do anything just to provide for their families. And the rich know it. Finally, the girl’s eyes start to flutter and she sits up.

“It’s okay girl. Your safe. The woman patched you up,” her father says, smiling down at her.

“I can…I can still feel my toes,” she says softly, all energy drained out of her. She lifts her head so that she may see the stump where her leg used to be.

“That is perfectly normal,” Louise reassures. “The sensation will fade soon. Now, I don’t have crutches here for you but I can give you the name of someone who does. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“You’ve done more than enough,” her father says gratefully. “And I’m sorry about before. My little girl is alive and that’s all I could ask for.”

“It is no problem at all.” The two depart from her clinic and Louise cleans up the blood from the table. She is glad she was able to help the child. Although she has become hardened to the fact that some people must die, it is never easy. Especially losing a child. After a few more patients with much more menial problems, she finally has a moment to breath.

“Tough day?” a woman’s voice says from behind her. She turns around to see and old friend, standing in the foyer of her clinic.

“Marie?” she says before pulling the woman into an embrace. She looks not to different from the last time they met, even though that was three years ago. She is a little older than Louise and has beautiful copper hair that is always tied in intricate plaits. “What brings you here?”

“Well I heard my old school friend was running her own clinic in Whitechapel and I thought I’d stop by. Fancy catching up?” she says, grinning.

“It alright,” Artherton says as he washes his hands. “I can finish up here.” The boy is no more than seventeen but he is eager to learn and she suspects he will make a fine doctor one day. He is sweet too, always polite to patients, no matter where they come from.

“Thank you. I’ll just grab my coat.” The two women walk arm in arm through the streets of Whitechapel. Louise wonders why her friend has taken this particular route as there is squalor everywhere you look and people constantly begging for scraps in doorways. Not the most scenic of places.

“I admit,” Marie says. “I do have an ulterior motive for coming to visit you.”

“Oh?” Louise questions, intrigued but also nervous.

“You have seen for yourself the horrors of this borough, have you not? There is darkness and despair in every corner and yet nothing is done to help these poor souls. I am part of an organisation that is trying to change that, with the help of my friend, Lord Malborough. He has a seat in Parliament but his influence is not enough to set the changes in motion.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“All you have to do is talk in front of some prominent politicians about what you have seen here. And we may also put forward our argument of allowing women doctors and physicians. If we have train more people in medicine then they can be stationed in such areas, starting with Whitechapel. People here, they have no hope of a good life. It’s no wonder those poor women were butchered here.” Louise shudders at the mention of the ripper. It is still odd to her how Jacob could have known him. She wonders what he was like before it all happened but she cannot ask Jacob that. He is too fragile of mind. “They need help. Are you willing to give it?” Marie asks, staring hopefully at Louise.

“Yes, yes of course. Anything I can do to better the lives of these people. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Louise. You are a good friend. So how are things with you?” 

Lousie sighs, thinking about her rather monotonous life. “Same old. What about you?” she says, trying to divert the conversation away from herself. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that giant rock on your finger.”

“Oh yes. I cannot quite believe, I thought I was destined to be a spinster for the rest of my life but here we are.” Marie looks positively joyful, and expression she has hardly ever seen on the woman before.

“And he supports you? And your career?” Louise questions. 

“Yes, I was surprised too. Is there a man in your life?” 

“Me? No, I am too dedicated to my work to think about love.”

“I used to think like that too, dear friend, but it is a miserable existence without the love of another. Yes, there are plenty who are against us but you will find those with good hearts who want only for us to be happy.”

“Perhaps. I am happy you have found sure a man. And only a little jealous,” she jests and both women chuckle. 

Marie's smile soon fades and she looks at Louise seriously, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Your time will come dear. Anyway, I must dash but I shall call on you again and give you the details of our organisation. Farewell.”

Louise is only half joking when she says she is jealous of Marie. She cannot deny to herself how lonely she is and would like more than anything to have someone who loves her. Yet she has been cast aside by every man she has known, treated like she is not good enough and she has some kind of disease for wanted to study and have a profession of her own. She tries to fool herself into thinking she is happy with just her career but, Marie is right, there comes a point where even that is not satisfying enough. But can she find a man who loves her for who she truly is?

 

A loud knock on the door brings Evie out of her dissociating thoughts. She has not stopped thinking about how Jacob had looked at her, two weeks ago now. With nothing but disdain and rage. Since he saw that newspaper he has barely said a word to anybody and refuses to let anyone see him. He only lets Louise come in to fed him and give him his dose of laudanum but as soon she is no longer needed he orders her out. _It is all my fault_ , she thinks. _I should have been more careful with the paper. Now he may never recover and it is all because of me._ The sight of Mary Kelly’s broken body is not a sight that anyone could forget, especially Evie who has seen it in the flesh. The visions still haunt her at night.

She hears Jacob crying through the walls most nights. Louise can sometimes calm him down but more often than not he demands to be alone and cries himself to sleep. In the day he is mute and does nothing but stare up at the ceiling with glazed eyes. Evie feels hopeless, not knowing what to do or say to him that won’t offend him and send him off the rails again. She just wants everything to be how it was before, when they were younger. Before she went to India.

She gets up, smooths down her creased clothes, and opens the door. A short blond woman is standing there, with a large wooden chest and at least five bags. Her attire is rather eccentric, yet fashionable in its way. She wears a bright yellow dress with pink embroidery, vastly standing out against the grey gloom of London. Her piercing blue eyes bore into Evie as she realises she has been staring at the woman on her doorstep gormlessly. “Hello,” the woman says. “Are you to leave me standing in the cold all day or may I come in?” Her accent is American and suddenly Evie realises she must be the assassin the council sent to temporarily replace Jacob.

“Sorry, forgive me. Do come in.” She gestures for her to enter and the woman steps in, taking a quick scan of the place. Evie brings her many bags in and leaves them by the door. “Would you like a cup of tea…er…”

“Charity McAllister,” she extends her arm for Evie to shake. “And do you perhaps have anything stronger?”

Evie chuckles at the question. It is mid afternoon and the woman is already thinking of alcohol. She would get on with Jacob famously. “I am afraid not, Miss McAllister. I am teetotal and it is only my brother and I who live here at the moment.”

“Oh well that’s no fun,” she retorts jokingly. “Tea it is. Getting into the British spirit I suppose.”

Evie nods and makes her way to the kitchen where she takes the teapot, fills it with water and hangs it by the open fire in the lounge. “Have you been to Britain before?” she asks inquisitively. 

“I have not, sadly, but my folks are descended from Presbyterian Scots. They fled persecution during the civil war and found a home in Boston. I wish to go there someday, when I have the time. The Highlands look so beautiful.”

“That sounds like a fine idea. I think we could all do with a holiday.”

“You must miss India. The weather there is quite different to London.”

Evie glances out of the window to see the dull sky and patches of drizzle coming from the heavens. It is true that India has a much warmer climate but England is her home and she’ll take it any day, rain or shine. “Yes, I suppose,” she lies. She has not even thought about how Henry will take the news of her staying in London for good yet. 

“How is your brother?” Charity asks, moving closer to Evie. “It is a terrible tragedy what happened here.” 

Evie had thought it best to tell the council all of what had happened here. If they were to find out she had lied there could be serious consequences but she sincerely hopes that that do not put the blame on Jacob for the whole fiasco. “He blames himself and I fear I keep making things worse. But the doctor knows what she is doing and she is still optimistic he’ll recover.”

“She? You have female doctors here?”

“No, she is an oddity, much like we are.”

“I see. I hope your brother feels better. I’ll help anyway I can.”

“I can handle any finance and paperwork, I just need you to train our apprentices and if you can recruit some more. If the Templar suss out that we are weak they will take every opportunity to strike and take back London. That is the last thing we need.”

“I understand Miss Frye. London is in safe hands.”

“Thank you. I thought you may want to stay in my brother’s other place in Whitechapel. I took him here to recover because it has more space and there are less... memories. I would offer you a bed here but I am expecting Mr Green and Jacob’s son Emmett soon and with the doctor here too we will already be at capacity.”

“No worry Miss Frye, I wouldn't want to intrude anyway.”

“Thank you. I shall move your belonging there once the doctor arrives to care for Jacob. But for now, do you take sugar in your tea?”

 

“Good evening Evie,” Louise greets as she enters the Frye residence. There is another woman there that she has not met before.

“Hello Louise. This is Charity McAllister. She is here to keep watch over the order while Jacob recovers.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Miss Frye has been telling me all about you. I do admire blue stockings such as yourself,” Charity says, shaking Louise’s hand firmly. She notes that the woman is American and dresses in a strange manner, certainly not how she would expect an assassin to dress. But she likes that there is another woman here who does not care what others think of her. Despite what the assassin's do, she has to admit she likes how free the females seem to be compared to the rest of society. 

“Thank you kindly,” Louise replies.

“I am just going to take Miss McAllister to her lodgings. We will be back soon,” says Evie as she picks up two heavy looking bags. Charity does not move, allowing Evie to do the heavy lifting. 

“Via the pub I hope,” Charity jokes.

“Sounds like an excellent idea,” Louise replies and Charity laughs, clapping her hands together.

“Finally, someone with sense! I like her already.”

The two women pile the rest of the luggage onto a carriage and leave Louise alone to care for Jacob. “Good evening Mr Frye,” she says entering his room, getting no response, just as she expected. He seemed to be doing slightly better for a time but now it is like trying to get blood from a stone. She suspects something may have occurred between the twins to set him back.

“Now, I was wondering if you think you are strong enough for a bath?” He grunts in response and she’s not entirely sure if that means yes or no. She goes with yes and brings the bath up to his room and starts to fill it up with hot water. It takes her a long time to boil the water but, in her studies, she learnt that heat kills bacteria and she would not want dirty water to infect him.

When the bath is ready she strips Jacob of his clothes and helps him into the tin tub. She begins to wash his wounds that are now starting to heal with a cloth, grazing over them gently. Physically he is healing well, if remaining at a standstill mentally. She notes that the swelling around his eyes has gone down so soon she will be able to check its condition. She hopes she will not have to remove it, for his sake.  

As she moves further down his body, she sees his pale and gaunt cheeks start to redden and he shuts his eye tightly. “Mr Frye, don’t be nervous. I have bathed men a thousand times.” Though as she tries to reassure him, she realises she could be the last women to have touched him like this in a while. Evie has made no mention of a wife though she knows he has a son. Perhaps she had died some time ago. Now she is washing his legs and is gradually moving up to his thighs. She stops immediately when she notices his length has hardened at her tender touch.

“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…” He turns away looking embarrassed as he realises she has seen him.

“It’s fine Mr Frye, you would be surprised how often that happens,” she jokes, laughing a little to try to lighten the mood but his anxious expression does not change. It’s true, it has happened a few times to her with men in the army who have not had a woman for months, sometimes even years. Jacob must be feeling incredibly isolated, stuck in this small room, day in and day out, and having no real contact with the outside world. She can imagine the neglect that he feels. “It’s nothing to worry about.” She smiles and helps him out of the tub, sitting him down and drying him with a towel. She helps him back into his pyjamas and into his bed, giving him his last bit of laudanum for the day. She sits beside him for a moment.

She is about to leave him in peace, as she normally does, but he grabs her wrist, pulling her back. “ _Stay_ ,” is all he says and she does so willingly. It is a good sign. She moves closer to him, sitting on the side of the bed, and his head falls into her lap. He closes his eyes and she softly strokes his hair, lightly making circles with her fingers. She senses he is still tense and wracks her brain for a way to relax him. It is then that she remembers the lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she could not sleep at night.

 

 _O ba ba mo leanabh_  
Ba mo leanabh, ba  
O ba ba mo leanabh  
Nì mo leanabhs' an ba ba  
  
Ged tha mi gun chaoraich agam  
'S caoraich uil' aig càch  
Ged tha mi gun chaoraich agam  
Dèan a leanabh an ba ba

 

Soon he relaxes and sleep finally comes to him. She gently lifts up his head and places it on the pillow before excusing herself. She can only hope that Jack will not frequent his dreams tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A blue stocking is a term used to describe an intelligent and educated woman.  
> The lullaby: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnCI_kFuG3g


	4. Chapter 4

“Charity?” Evie calls as she walks up the stairs to Jacob’s old flat, noticing the door has been left wide open.

“Ah Evie! Thank the heavens you’re here,” the woman exclaims as she gestures for Evie to hurry inside.

“What on earth is that smell?” says Evie as she pinches her nose, trying to locate the source of the stench. It smells like rotting flesh.

“That is what I called you here about. I could smell something awful while I was trying to sleep last night and I couldn’t figure out what it was until this morning when I was tidying up and found this package under the bed.” Charity hands Evie the package, wrapped in brown paper.

Evie pulls back the wrapping to see a bloodstained white cloth. She lifts up the cloth to find a decaying human heart inside. She is speechless as she tries not to wretch and swiftly puts it down on the table beside her. “Mary Kelly.”

“What?” asks Charity.

“Mary Kelly’s heart. It was ripped out of her body and the police were unable to locate it. It must be hers,” Evie explains as flashbacks of her pour into her head and it takes all her willpower to push them back out again. It sends shivers down her spine just thinking about it. He didn’t just kill her, he _butchered_ her. “Did Jack send it here after he killed her? For Jacob if he ever came back. Or for me? Another sick birthday present?”

“Perhaps to implicate Jacob? Make him take the punishment?” Charity suggests and it sounds entirely plausible. Jack never did take responsibility for his actions, even in his youth. She knew that he had blamed Jacob for the death of his mother which was in no way Jacob’s fault. “What should we do? Send it to the police?”

“No. Abberline may not be able to stop the police seeing Jacob as a suspect if they see this. And if the press ever got a whiff of this he would be crucified. No, we must dispose of it ourselves.”

“I understand Evie, leave it with me.” Charity wraps up the heart again and places it inside a brown leather satchel. She stares at Evie’s withered face for a moment. “Are you quite alright darlin’?”

“Me? Yes I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Because you look awful,” she says bluntly.

“Charming.”

“Sorry but…are you eating? Sleeping? Looking after yourself?”

“Not really. I just…It doesn’t matter. I have troubled you enough.”

“Nonsense! Is the situation your brother taking its toll on you? Yes, it is hard on him but no one has thought about how hard it must be for you. The things you must have seen…”

Evie hesitates at first but she has to admit that she has been dying to talk to someone. And Charity seems as though she will understand. “I just…everything I say to Jacob makes him angry and I don’t know what to do anymore. I knew he blamed me for going to India but it’s not like I can take that back now. And seeing her…Mary. I’ve seen dead bodies before but nothing like that. I just don’t know what to do. I just want things to be how they were, before I left. Before that parasite entered our lives.” Evie is silent and breathes heavily as she waits for Charity to reply. She fears she may have offloaded too much onto the woman and scared her away. She thought that Jacob and her would be able to lean on each other to get through this terrible time but he would rather be anywhere but near her. She cannot do this on her own.

Charity takes a big deep breath. “Oh Evie,” she ushers her to take a seat on the couch. “You must feel so helpless. But I am sure Jacob is just taking his anger out on you, he doesn’t mean what he says. You said your husband is on his way. I am sure he will be a comfort to you.”

“Not likely,” Evie replies bitterly, thinking about how she left things with Henry, He had not been happy about her travelling to London for what he called ‘another one of Jacob’s fool’s errands. But she had sensed the urgency in his letter and knew it was much more serious than Henry believed. She had begun to think Henry did not like her and Jacob being together at all. But that was something he was going to have to get used to.

“You have not been getting on?”

“Not for a long time now. He doesn’t seem interested in me anymore. We seem to just irritate each other.”

“When was the last time you lay together?” she asks, rather bluntly. Evie is taken aback by the question and blushes nervously. Charity giggles as she notices Evie’s embarrassment over her lewd question. “Dear God, you British are so repressed. It is a natural thing Evie. But if you do not wish to tell me I understand.”

“I…” she sighs, seeing no point in holding back now. “I have not shared his bed in several years. I never really felt…”

“Satisfied?”

“Exactly. I have heard women talk about their experiences before and it never felt like that.”

“I am afraid men only care about themselves darlin’,” says Charity and Evie can sense a tone of bitterness imbedded in her voice. From past experience perhaps?

“I don’t know, the stories I’ve heard about Jacob.” She rolls her eyes, half chuckling, as she remembers what he was like in his younger days. Word got back to her via the Rooks about how popular he was with women. And men too apparently. She is surprised he ever settled down and got married at all.

Suddenly feeling like she has said too much, she leans towards the door. Henry was not a bad husband but for a while now she has felt bored and wishes he was something more. A little more exciting. “Anyway I um…have to go. I have taken up too much of your time already and must get back to my brother.”

“Any time Miss Frye. I’ll be here if you need me.”

 

Jacob’s nights are filled with terrors. When he does eventually get to sleep, he sees visions of Jack, the havoc he wreaked, the darkness closing in. Some nights are better than others. When Louise is here her presence can soothe him and help him to find comfort, temporarily at least. She sings sweet songs to him in another language, Gaelic he thinks, which lulls him into a false sense of security.

But tonight is different. She is not here. She asked him if it was okay if she visits another patient tonight, a little boy with consumption, and he had said yes though he wishes he had not. He cannot settle. _A full-grown man unable to sleep without a lullaby. How pathetic,_ he thinks.

When sleep finally takes him, he dreams again. This time he is on a ship with Jack when he was just a boy. This vision is hazy and it seems discoloured, like he is watching the scene through tinted spectacles. Jack is excitably running around the ship, anxious to see India having never journeyed outside the English capital before. “Jacob! Jacob catch me!” the young boy shouts, causing some heads to turn.

“Jack, quieten down now. You’re disrupting the other passengers,” Jacob scolds.

“But I’m so excited Jacob! Come on catch me! Catch me!” The young boy runs in the opposite direction to Jacob.

He relents and goes to look for Jack, if anything to make sure he is safe and doesn’t do something stupid like fall overboard. Clearly Jack has forgotten that assassins have eagle vision. He follows Jack to below the deck and can faintly hear the sound of childish giggling underneath one of the tables.

“Hm I wonder where he could be?” says Jacob, trying to humour him. “Not here.” He checks behind a curtain, keeping up the act. “Nor here?” he says checking underneath a pile of linen. “I have absolutely no idea where he can be.” The giggling gets louder and as Jacob gets closer he can see Jack’s feet poking out from under the table. “Or maybe,” he gets as close as he can. “He’s under the table!” He pulls Jack out by the feet, both of them laughing hysterically as he starts to tickle the boy relentlessly.

“Stop! Stop! You win!” Jack cries, still laughing. Suddenly his voice shifts, becoming deeper. “You win Jacob.” The scene changes. It becomes darker. “You’ve won and I have failed.” Jacob and Jack are no longer the younger versions of themselves and Jack stands opposite him, his face covered as he cleans the blood off his blade. “How do it feel? To have won, yet to have so little. Except my name will live on forever. Jack the Ripper. But what will they say of you?” Jack walks towards him, causing Jacob to take a step back. “Coward!” Jack yells, making Jacob jump in fear. “That’s what they’ll say. The man who sat back and did nothing while Whitechapel burnt.”

Jacob feels himself backing away but Jack is faster and lunges at him, slashing his knife madly. He _feels_ the pain of the knife cutting his eye. He _feels_ the pressure of Jack’s bodyweight upon him. And then he _feels_ nothing but emptiness.

He sits up in a panic, expecting Louise to be there but this time is it Evie. He doesn’t want her here. He doesn’t want her to see him like this. “Leave,” he orders but she does not move. “Please,” he begs, starting to sob and holding his head in his hands.

“Jacob, please. Let me help you,” she replies weakly.

“I don’t want your help! You left me! You didn’t care then and you don’t care now!”

“Jacob-”

“Please go.” He can tell he has upset her but at this moment solitude is all he wants. In truth he cannot bear to see her face, looking at him in sympathy. She must blame him. How could she not? He let her down again when he swore he would not. Father was right about him. She scurries off and his is left alone, with his thought and memories he wishes he could forget.

Two weeks later, Louise returns to staying in the spare room. He hadn’t realised how accustomed he had got to her being there until he she was not. She had been tending to him for about a month now and she has some quirks that had irritated him at first but now he has started to enjoy. How her hair is always messy because she is always in a rush, how she always smells of incense because ‘clear air means a clear mind’ and how her speech sometimes slips from ‘standard’ to her rural vernacular when she thinks she cannot hear him. And he especially loves it when she sings, reminding him of his grandmother who sang to him and Evie in Welsh while they lived with her as children.

Yet the last fortnight has been difficult without these senses to focus on. Instead nothing. This morning she enters his room, not her usual cheery self, with a tray of warm tea and porridge, which he despises but he cannot yet stomach solid food. She sets it down and starts to feed him. Once the task is done she brings in a basin to give him a quick wash down. He can still not look at her in the eye after his bath two weeks ago, where he got hard at her touch. It was not, or he thinks it was not, because of her but simply because he has gone a long time without intimacy. He hadn’t the time with running the creed and then everything with Jack. And with all the alcohol he was drinking he wasn’t even sure if he could anymore. He was so embarrassed but his one solace was that she didn’t seem bothered by it.

She then dresses him again and puts him back to bed. He longs for the day when he can leave this wretched room. He longs to not have to look at the same four walls, day in day out.

“Laudanum?” he asks. He has a particularly bad pain in his stomach today.

“Actually, I think we should start to ween you off.”

“What? But why? It still hurts!” he shouts.

“It has been a month now and your wounds are healing. Your stomach pain is probably down to the fact you still won’t eat enough.”

She is annoyed but he needs relief so he presses the matter. “But I need it. You gave that girl chloroform, why not me?”

“Because, like I told you, that girl needed an amputation and the pain could have killed her. Please Mr Frye, a child has died under my care. I am in no mood for this today,” she says, rubbing her temples.

“You think I’m in the mood for this pain?”

She sighs, her face showing more annoyance but her voice remaining calm. “If I give you too much laudanum, you will get addicted to opium. If a patient of mine gets addicted then I could lose my licence to practice medicine and both you and the people of Whitechapel would have no one to care for them. Is that what you want? From what Abberline has told me of you, you care deeply about the poor and want to help people.” She perches beside him on the bed.

“That man is dead,” he replies sharply.

“No he isn’t. He’s still in there, you just won’t let him out.”

“And what would you have me do? Do a song and dance? Forget this ever happened?”

“Of course not. But you cannot live in the past, blaming yourself and pushing away those who care about you forever.”

“You make it sound so damn easy.”

“Mr Frye, I know it is hard but-”

“Oh do you? You know how hard it is? You know how hard it is to wake up in the morning, forgetting for a moment until you feel the pain and it all comes flooding back. You know what it’s like to be made a fool? Do you know what it’s like to lose a child?”

Something in her seems to snap as she stands up abruptly. “Actually I do!” she shouts and walks over to the table. Her back is turned to him but he can hear her trying to supress a sob. He suddenly feels guilty. While being so wrapped up in his own troubles, he didn’t think for a second that just maybe she did actually know how he felt.

Although it causes him severe pain, he forces himself to stand up and drags himself over to where she is standing. He didn’t mean to upset her, not after everything she’s done for him thus far. “I’m sorry,” he says and she turns around unexpectedly.

“You’re standing,” she says, surprised.

He didn’t know he could stand either but now that he can he may be able to move from this prison cell. “Yeah,” he replies. “Kind of hurts now though.”

“Come on, sit down,” she orders as she helps him to sit on the bed. She doesn’t say anything.

“What happened? To your child?” he asks.

She shuffles the weight of her body from foot to foot, glaring down at the wooden floor. “I’ve never told anyone about it before.”

“I know I’ve no place to ask, but talking about things are the only way it will get better. Your words.”

She chuckles softly. “You know what they say. Doctors make the worst patients.” She sits down next to him again and wipes away the tears in her eyes. “Well I was born in the Isle of Skye and my father was a vicar. He came over from the England, Oxfordshire, and married a local woman, a farmer's daughter. And he always had this _obsession_ repentance and righteousness and living a sin free life. He hardly let us do anything that wasn't pray and read the bible. But,” she starts to breath more heavily. “I got pregnant when I was young. Really young. Fourteen. I never saw him again after that. I don't know if I love him or simply thought I did but it still hurt.

But anyway, my father was so _so_ angry. He blamed me for everything. So he covered up the pregnancy, wouldn’t let me leave the house in case anyone in the village found out. And when she was born, my girl Mhairi, they took her away and had her adopted by a family friend.  But the woman who looked after her, she took pity on me and let me see her in secret. Until one day I came and she was ill. I didn’t know at the time but it was scarlet fever. There was no doctor for miles Jacob. No one who could have treated her. If someone was there to examine her she may still be alive today. That’s why I decided to become a doctor. So that other people do not have to go through what I went through. So yes I do know how you feel. Empty and barely alive. But I was completely alone. You are not, you have people who care about you.”

“I know, I just…” he pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “I feel like I have let everyone down. And if I hadn’t have been so stupid those poor women would still be alive today. I killed them Louise. I did.”

“You wanted to save an orphan. It was a noble sentiment and I think you didn’t see what he was because you see the best in people. You were naïve, just like I was. We cannot change the past but we can change the future. You have to let go. Not everyone can be saved.”

He nods in agreement. It is a harsh truth to hear but he has been holding on too much. Torturing himself because he thought it was what he deserved but it was his good heart that had brought him here, was it not? He had tried to be kind and Jack returned his kindness with madness and cruelty. No amount of love was going to change him. “You’re right. But I’m not sure I deserve this after everything I’ve put you through. And especially Evie. I have been awful to her.”

“She understands Jacob. She won’t give up on you. And although I am technically being paid to be here, I do care about you. I care about all my patients.”

“Thank you,” he says as she helps him lay down.

“Will you eat some more?” He nods and she feeds him again.

“How come your name doesn’t sound Scottish?” he asks as she puts more porridge on the spoon and he takes it in his mouth, swallowing quickly or else he may spit it out.

“Walker was my father’s name and Louise is actually my middle name, after my grandmother. Never met her though.”

“What is your real name then?”

“Promise you won’t laugh? It's really pretentious.”

“I swear,” he replies, crossing his heart with both hands.

“Cairistìona.”

And then he laughs. He actually _laughs_ for the first time in God knows how long. His palms cover his face as he continues to chuckle underneath them. He laughs not at her name but at her expression. He was expecting something much worse. The name is beautiful and unique, a lot like her. 

“Hey,” she says, playfully slapping his arm, but very gently. “You promised!”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yes you are! I think it's embarrassing.”

“I think it's adorable.”

“Yes well. You can see why I chose to go by Louise. And changed my accent to received pronunciation. It’s bad enough I am a female doctor, I don’t need my heritage to be used against me either.”

“You shouldn’t care. I like your accent.”

“Thank you,” she says, standing up. “You look tired so I will leave you to sleep for a bit but perhaps we can try walking again a bit later?”

“I would like that, Kaar-es-chona.” She giggles as he messes up the pronunciation of her name and she leaves the room. He turns over, shutting his eyes tightly. It is not long before sleep finds him again, having not slept properly for two weeks, and he soon realises that the pain in his stomach has completely vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consumption is the Victorian word for Tuberculosis  
> Cairistìona is pronounced Karr-is-cheena. Hear it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8I6d0nCrWk


	5. Chapter 5

“Good morning Miss Louise,” a voice comes behind her, taking her mind away from cleaning the kitchen of the Frye residence. With Jacob indisposed and Evie helping to hold up the fort of the brotherhood, there is no one there to take care of household tasks. She debates suggesting to Evie that she hire a maid. She does not enjoy cleaning in the slightest.

“Same to you Miss Charity,” she replies to the women standing in the doorway. “I’m afraid Evie isn’t here. She left early this morning but I don’t know where.”

“No matter I shall find her later. That is not why I came anyway. I’ve brought some of Mr Frye’s belongings as I gather he will be staying here for the foreseeable. It’s just some boxes of clothes, trinkets and books,” she says, pointing to the doorway where the boxes are sat.

“Thank you, I am sure he will be happy with those. He is upstairs now if you would like to say hello. And take this up toom would you?” Louise replies as she hands Charity a bowl of soup and a roll of brown bread. She nods and takes the bowl up the stairs and knocks on the door.

 

“Come in,” says Jacob as he sits up, noticing the pain in his side has now dulled and sitting up straight has become significantly easier. He has felt better in himself over the past few days since his chat with Louise. It was like she understood him and the fact that she was carrying on to care for him despite everything gives him hope that he may do the same. And it does feel like she truly cares which only makes him feel guilt for having pushed her away so frequently.

A woman he has never seen before enters his room. She is blond, middle aged and wears a royal blue gown. He starts to panic as there is a stranger in his room but then he reminds himself that Louise would never let anyone through whom she did not trust. She smiles at him, holding a bowl of soup, and passes it to him. He takes it, noting the emblem on a pendant around her slender neck, and slowly comes to the realisation that she is the assassin the brotherhood sent from across the Atlantic.

“So, you must be the yank the council sent to corrupt my brotherhood,” he jokes, causing her to chuckle in response. He is glad that she laughs. He is tired of being so serious all of the time.

“That is me yes. You look awful,” she says, raking her eyes over his body.

He is so shocked by her abruptness that all he can do it laugh. He likes this woman already. “So would you if you’d been beaten and tortured,” he replies, but in a light tone. Her expression suggests she was expecting an angry response and regretted her harsh choice of words but she is pleasantly surprised by his small smirk at the end of his sentence.

“That is true. Your nurse is doing a good job then?”

“Doctor,” he corrects. She is one of the most intelligent women he has ever met so she deserves the credit of being a bona fide doctor. He finds it truly bizarre that women are still not allowed to do things that men are. Women in the brotherhood were always seen as just as capable so Jacob was raised to show them respect. He can’t believe that people outside the creed where not taught the same lessons.

“Of course, my mistake. But your health has progressed, yes? You will soon be well enough so I can leave this miserable country?” She gazes out the window to see the typical grey wash and drizzle dampening the already gloomy streets.

Although it can be a depressing place to live, he loves London with all his heart and would do anything to protect it. “Not a fan of the weather?”

“I would take a sunny beach over this any day. But alas,” she turns away from the window and back to him. “London needs me. And those awful uniforms you have the poor apprentices wearing certainly need my attention.”

Jacob laughs again. “Alright. Just don’t change too much. No bright pink.”

“You can be practical _and_ fashionable, you know. Anyway, I have brought some of your belongings so I will bring them up. Or rather have Miss Louise bring them up. I shall see you soon, Mr Frye.”

“Goodbye,” he says as she exits the room and he finishes the rest of his soup. 

 

As Charity leaves there is a second knock on the door and another woman enters nervously. She is young, no older than twenty, and has raven black hair, tied in a bun. Her corset is laced tightly and her neck line low, her face displays quite a lot of makeup and a rose rests in her hair. From her clothing Louise suspects she is a prostitute; having spent a lot of time treating them they have become easy to identify.

“Hello,” Louise says, stepping away from her cleaning to greet the woman. Although some would treat her with disdain, Louise knows that hardships she must have faced and she is no less a woman in her eyes. Had her life gone differently she easily could have been in a similar situation.

“Hello Miss. I uh…I’m Nellie…Jacob’s friend. I wondered if I might see him?” The girl is sweet and expresses a certain innocence that is odd in a grown woman from these parts. Even children have given up hope. But she finds this admirable in a way.  

“Yes,” she says. “He is upstairs, to the left.”

They talk for some time before the girl returns and mutters a farewell as she leaves. Now that Jacob is alone, she takes the boxes of his possessions up to his room. “So, you know her well?” She asks, trying to sound interested rather than annoyed. She does not know why Nellie arriving bothers her so much but she can feel something bubbling in the pit of her stomach. She had thought that, in the short time she had known him, that Jacob was not the type of man to use women in that way. But perhaps she didn’t know him so well after all.

“We’re good friends,” he replies simply, not looking up to greet her.

“Friends? Why would you be friends with a-”

“With a what?”

“A.” She thinks carefully about what she says next. “A…lady of the night,” she says, cringing at her choice of words.

“She helped me out with the brotherhood. Why does it matter? Are you jealous?” he says, raising his brows and she tries to stop herself from blushing at his comment.

Why was he turning her into that innocent and inexperienced teenage girl again? After she had shared her story with him they had seemed closer, making jokes together and talking about simple things like the weather. She was glad to see him making progress but there couldn’t be more to it. Could there? She had locked away those kinds of emotions, deep into her subconsciousness. She was determined not to feel anything like this again, after what had happened to her all those years ago. But deep down she knew those emotions were beginning to resurface to some extent. “No. Just making sure I don’t need to check you for venereal disease as well,” she replies; the best response she can come up with on the spot. She removes the thermometer from her bag and walks over to him, perching on the side of the bed. “Open,” she says and he smirks at her before opening his mouth and lifting up his tongue. “Your temperature has gone down significantly. This is good. Now, I think we should try looking at your eye.” He nods and she starts to remove the bandages from his head. She asks him to lay down on his back and look straight ahead. She pulls the socket apart slightly so that she can see the eye better as he moves it around. She steps away, satisfied with what she saw. “Can you see anything?” she asks him.

“I can see but it’s blurry,” he replies.

“As I thought. The good news is you are not going blind.”

“And the bad news?” he asks sensing that there is a ‘but’ to this sentence, looking up with fear in his eyes.

“You are going to have to wear spectacles.”

He sighs and rests his head down in relief. “Is that it? I hardly care what I look like anymore. Spectacles aren't going to make this old mug look any worse,” he laughs and points to his face.

“You are hardly unattractive for your age Mr Frye,” she says and her face immediately reddens as the words fall out her mouth. She turns away from him, gathering her things into her bag, hoping that he will not reply to that. “Miss McAllister brought your things round,” she points to the boxes, avoiding his gaze. “Shall I put them away for you?”

“Please.”

She sorts through his clothes, placing them in neatly in his wardrobe. She picks up an interesting object, which Jacob tells her to be Khali the Destroyer and places it on his bedside table as she suspects it has some sentimental value to him. She begins to put away his books on the shelf above the desk, which are mostly to do with the creed, but one catches her eye.

“Welsh myths?” she says to him as she holds the book up for him to see.

He sits up a little and nods. “I read them as a child. My mother was Welsh and my grandmother would read the stories to me when we lived with her.”

“You lived with your grandmother?”

“My mother died giving birth to me and my dad couldn’t cope with Evie and I.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, putting the book down.

“It’s alright. I still keep a book to remind me of them.” To her surprise his expression is happy as he reminisces.

She smiles warmly and sits down beside him again. “My mother used to read Robert Burns to me. I adore his poetry.”

Jacob smiles back and is about to reply when there is a loud knocking at the door. Louise rises from the bed and travels down the stairs as quickly as she can as the impatient knocking continues. She swings the door open to see a dark-haired man leaning against the frame. He glances up at her and flashes her an oh so familiar smile. “Alright darlin’?” he says in a strong cockney accent, winking at her. “Where is he then?” he asks, pushing past her into the lounge. He looks around and then proceeds to walk up the stairs.

Befuddled, she closes the door and follows the stranger, who is walking into Jacob’s room. Before she can stop him, the door is open and Jacob has a surprised look on his face.

The young man looks at him with an unreadable expression. “Hello dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow updates and short chapter. I have a lot going on in my personal life x


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